


I Need a Break (But I'd Rather Have a Breakthrough)

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:36:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out as something easy. Or, how Tina and Santana start dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need a Break (But I'd Rather Have a Breakthrough)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers, if any, up through 2x17 "A Night of Neglect"

It starts out as something easy.  
  
Tina and Mike get into some stupid fight and ‘break up’ – Santana, stuck alone in the bathroom with Tina, catches the words “chicken” and “feet” and the word “Asian” over and over again, but she’s really focusing on the way Tina used enough lip gloss to make the corner of her mouth shimmer every time she turns her head. Not on the actual words coming out of that mouth.  
  
She can’t remember the last time she kissed someone – which is unacceptable – and Tina is a friend. Sort of. She’s a sorta-friend with a boyfriend, but they’re taking a break, so…  
  
Santana sees an opportunity and she takes it.  
  
She takes a few slow steps forward until Tina trails off and her pretty mouth hangs open just slightly, as if she’s going to ask a question but can’t remember what it was. Santana’s hands slide down Tina’s arms, over her fishnets and down to Tina’s hands. Their fingers tangle together and Santana almost sighs in relief. It’s been so long since she’s held hands just as small as her own. She runs her thumb across Tina’s smooth knuckles and almost forgets what she’s doing, her intention of voluntarily being this close to another person.  
  
“W-w-what are you doing?” Tina asks, her eyes widening.  
  
Santana smirks and lifts their hands behind her. Tina’s hands are warm against the small of Santana’s back and that, too, is distracting. “If you don’t know,” she says, “then Other Asian must not be doing it right. Or often.”  
  
Tina’s eyes flash at the mention of Mike but Santana can’t see it, leaning in, her nose bumping against Tina’s as she tries to find the right angle. Her top lip grazes across Tina’s bottom lip, sliding through strawberry-flavored lip gloss. There’s a hot blast of air against her mouth and then Tina is kissing her, fingernails pressing against the edge of her spine.  
  
It’s better than Santana expected. Tina’s lips are soft, her kisses are firm. When Santana flicks her tongue against the seam of Tina’s mouth, the other girl’s lips part effortlessly. She traces the lines of Tina’s teeth, their tongues brushing against each other, barely anything, but still enough to make Santana force down a groan. She forgot how much she missed kissing someone like this: soft and simple – no fish mouth descending upon her, no plunging tongue gagging her. Tina’s hand slides up her back a little, pushing gently and Santana takes the hint, pressing her body closer to Tina’s, kissing her harder for a long second before pulling away, stepping back.  
  
Something like pride flares up in her stomach when Tina sways a little on her feet, one of the hands that was on Santana’s back covering her mouth. Santana crosses her arms over her chest and gives the other girl a smug smile.  
  
“I don’t know what that was,” Tina says softly.  
  
“It was a kiss, Elvira,” Santana cuts in.  
  
Tina only frowns slightly but otherwise ignores her. “I don’t know what that was,” she repeats. “But I wouldn’t say no to doing it again.”  
  
Santana nods like she knew Tina would say that. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she coos, stepping towards Tina and the door. She makes sure to brush against Tina as she passes, trailing a finger down Tina’s arm.  
  
“No one ever does.”  
  
\---  
  
It starts out as something easy, like it always does.  
  
She’s restless in English class and some faceless couple are practically sharing a seat next to her. It’s partly pissing her off, but mostly, it’s reminding her that it’s been almost three days since the last time she got her mack on with Tina or anyone else.  
  
Tina’s number is already in her phone, right under Tight End #2 and she’s dismissing herself from class before the message is even sent. She takes her time at her locker, though, because Santana Lopez isn’t the type of girl to show up early at the janitor’s closet. Tina can wait a few minutes.  
  
Santana is worth it.  
  
“Hey,” Tina says, sliding down off one of the desks shoved into the corner of the room as Santana comes in, locking the door behind her.  
  
“Were you busy?” She doesn’t ask because she cares. She only asks because she’s realized it’s rude to stick her tongue down people’s throat without some type of pleasantry.   
  
Tina shrugs her shoulders. “A little. We’re learning a new formula in math.”  
  
“Awesome sounds great come  _here_ ,” she says in one breath, grabbing at the bottom of Tina’s shirt – some button down thing Santana knows, from experience, she could have off in under fifteen seconds.  
  
Tina comes crashing against her, lips parted, hands sliding around Santana’s hips and up to the back of her neck. Santana sinks into the kiss, sighing as Tina’s tongue sweeps against hers. One of her hands tangle in long black hair, tugging Tina’s head back enough to disengage the kiss and make her way over Tina’s chin to her neck.  
  
She nudges Tina back against a filing cabinet, moving down Tina’s neck slowly. Her free hand slides from the bottom of Tina’s shirt up – feeling the firmness of her stomach, pressing gently against the ribs she finds, brushing against the swell of her breast. She feels Tina moan, feels Tina’s skin move under her mouth, and grins, moving her hand up and palming a full breast. Santana feels Tina arch into her but she’s moving Santana’s hand back down to her stomach.  
  
“What?” she asks, sucking on a space of smooth skin by Tina’s hemline. Santana slides her hand back up but Tina beats her there, wrapping a tight hand around Santana’s wrist, stopping her.  
  
“Wait,” Tina mutters, pushing Santana back by the shoulders. “What are you doing?”  
  
Santana smiles crookedly. “If you don’t know…”  
  
Tina cuts her off. “Shut up.”  
  
Santana sighs, straightening up and running her free hand through her hair. “Listen,” she says awkwardly. “your body is bangin.’ You’ve got a lot of good things going on there and I’m just trying to appreciate it, okay?  
  
She knows she sounds gruff, brash and few other words she doesn’t remember because she’s skipping SAT prep right now, but she can feel the weight of Tina’s hand lingering on her neck and when she licks her lips, she tastes rootbeer.  
  
Tina stares at her for a minute. Just as Santana is about to give up and suffer through Ms. Goodman’s monotone, Tina nods.  
  
“Okay,” she says, smiling slowly. “I’d like that.” She moves their hands back, letting go of Santana’s wrist.  
  
“God,” Santana breathes out, eliminating the distance between them, burying her face in the crook of Tina’s neck. She feels the weight in her hand, squeezes gently, and grins against Tina’s skin when Tina groans and pushes into her. “Banging body,” she repeats, nipping at Tina’s collarbone.  
  
Tina  _does_  have a bangin’ body. It’s hidden under layers of makeup and clothes that kids don’t like, but it’s there and Santana is intent on feeling every inch she can get her fingers and mouth on before Tina pushes her away.  
  
It feels so much better than it should. She could have her pick of guys – Tight End #2 is just as easy to text as Tina. She could have taken the guy from her English class sucking face with his girlfriend, if she wanted him badly enough. She could push any guy she picked into this closest, clawed at his broad chest and felt him get hard against her, but there’s something much more addictive about the feel of right now: of the weight and warmth in her hands and the hardened peak against her palm and the soft girl noises Tina is making in the back of her throat.  
  
She didn’t know she was craving it until right now.  
  
The period ends and Tina stops at the door on her way out, leaning back against it as she finishes button her shirt. Santana checks her reflection in her pocket mirror and only looks up when Tina clears her throat.  
  
“Yeah?” She snaps her mirror closed and tucks it back in her purse.  
  
“Do you want to leave first, or should I?”  
  
Santana grins a little and steps up in front of Tina, ignoring, for time’s sake, the way Tina shivers when Santana’s hands go to the top of Tina’s shirt. She pulls open the top button, pushing the collar out a little more, exposing the smooth skin Santana had peppered with small marks. “You look sexier this way. You should show a little skin, you know?  
  
Tina ducks her head, exposing the side of her neck as her hair falls forward. Santana suddenly feels like saying, “ _screw the rest of the day. How about you let me round second and let me slide into third for the first time?_ ” But she rolls her eyes and nudges Tina out of the way.  
  
“See ya around,” she says, winking as she closes the door behind her, ealving Tina to wait – a time that was not up for negotiation – thirty seconds before following.  
  
The rest of the day flies.  
  
\---  
  
It starts out as something easy, like it always does, but something happens.  
  
When Santana’s beer is spilled after being at the party for only an hour, she knows right away she shouldn’t have agreed to come. But Quinn looked desperate for company and Brittany was going somewhere with Artie and sitting home on a Friday night is something only people like Rachel Berry do. Still, the beer spills – onto her jeans and her shirt, just missing her brand new boots – and she’s ready to call it quits.   
  
It takes her a few minutes and couple good shoves to get to the stairs but she doesn’t care at all. She can already feel her shirt sticking to her skin and it’s grossing her out. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, door closed, but she doesn’t bother knowing. Whoever is in there can get the hell out.  
  
Tina’s head snaps up as Santana barges through the door. She stops shirt, her order to leave dying in her throat as she takes Tina in: black jeans and black heels and a black bra, her eyes rimmed in dark liner.  
  
“Where’s your shirt?” is the first thing she manages to ask.  
  
Tina holds up the knotted black fabric in her hands. “Why is your shirt wet?”  
  
Santana answers Tina’s chest. “Why isn’t your shirt on?”  
  
“Mike took it off,” she says wearily. “And then he took it with him.”  
  
“But-”  
  
Tina shakes the shirt in her hands loose. It’s too big for Tina, black with a white silhouette of a pair of boxing gloves on the front. “He was angry. He took the first shirt he could find.”  
  
That wasn’t what she was going to ask. She was going to ask why they were taking their shirts off in the first place – Tina said on Monday that they were off again this week. She feels a draft at her back and shakes herself out of her stupor, slamming the door shut and locking it, closing the two of them inside the bathroom. She can see the plea in Tina’s eyes, to ask why Mike was angry and why he left, but Santana is having too much trouble keeping her eyes on Tina’s face to form words.  
  
“You left a mark,” Tina says after a minute of silence.  
  
Santana blinks a few times before the words soak in. She frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Two days ago, in the bathroom during fifth period,” Tina prompts. “I told you not to leave a hickey on my neck so you…”  
  
So Santana had focused her attention on the skin just below Tina’s collarbone. She remembered. She remembered grabbing Tina before lunch and sneaking into the bathroom by the science hallway. She remembered kissing away Tina’s smug grin, her hands roaming down Tina’s back, over the curve of her jeans and back up into her hair. She remembered Tina panting against her forehead, sucking harder to hear that breathy noise again.  
  
“Well, why’d you let him see it?” Santana asks, glaring hard.  
  
Tina doesn’t back down from the look. “We were making out. Things were getting hot and heavy. He still is my boyfriend, you know.” Tina’s face drops, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “He was my boyfriend,” she adds, voice thick.  
  
Santana’s glare fades into a mix of confusion and almost-sympathy. There’s an ache somewhere in her chest she can’t explain – at the look on Tina’s face and the way she’s holding that shirt – that makes her words catch in her throat. “He broke up with you?”  
  
“Officially,” Tina says, clutching the shirt to her chest, obscuring Santana’s view.  
  
Now she’s really pissed she came to this party. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need another broken-up relationship on her conscious. She doesn’t need Mike glaring at her – even though none of this is her fault, really – in the hallways and people calling her a home-wrecker. She doesn’t need to be inside this bathroom with a half-naked, crying Tina Cohen-Chang.  
  
Santana needs to be on her couch, in her pajamas, watching Sweet Valley High, popularity be damned.  
  
But Tina is sniffling and staring down miserably at Mike’s shirt and the beer is drying on her skin so she does what she can. Cursing teenage boys and cheap beer, she pulls at her shirt gingerly, lifting it over her head and dropping it to the ceramic floor with a soft squelch. Tina looks up at her, head tilted in confusion.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asks in a whisper.  
  
Santana ignores her and sighs in frustration as she looks down at herself. “God. He got my damn bra too.” She reaches back and unhooks it, tossing it to the floor.  
  
Tina is still just sitting there, staring at her as she pulls the zipper on her jeans down and pops the button open. She finally moves as Santana starts to shimmy out of her jeans, standing quickly and crossing the small room even faster, wrapping her hands around Santana’s.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asks again.  
  
“I smell like a brewery and it’s making me nauseous. So I’m taking a shower.” Santana pushes her jeans down against Tina’s grip. “What are  _you_  doing? Besides stopping me from undressing?”  
  
“Santana,” Tina says, her voice tinted with an undertone of anger. “Mike broke up with me. Like, really broke up with me.”  
  
She nods. “I know.” She shakes her hands out of Tina’s grasp and slides them up Tina’s stomach, around to her back, fingering the clasp of Tina’s black bra. “And you can sit here and sob into his shirt like a girl, or you can try and let me make you feel a little better in the best way. Your choice.”  
  
Tina takes a full, slow-moving minute to decide. She nods and Santana turns on the shower to let it warm up. Her fingers slip under the straps of Tina’s bra and push them down her shoulders and off her arms. She leaves their clothes on the floor and backs into the shower, pulling Tina in after her.  
  
Santana sees an opportunity and she takes it.  
  
This isn’t about Tina. Not really. This is about how her night went to shit over a cup of beer and this is just what she needs to make it better. She just needs a warm, pliant body under the tips of her fingers. She needs sharp teeth nipping at her ear. She needs to bury her face in the crook of someone’s neck and breathe in the smell of skin.  
  
Tina’s mouth finds hers blindly, keeping her engaged as her hands wander, across Santana’s shoulder blades and to her waistline. She pushes into the touch and feels Tina push back, a war in the middle of the shower stall that neither of them is really trying to win.  
  
Santana needs to be touched as much as she wants to touch someone else.  
  
When Tina’s hand finds Santana’s, the one gripping Tina’s waist as the other slides in and out of her at an easy pace, her thumb skipping and pressing, she’s not ready for it. She isn’t expecting Tina’s fingers to slip between her own, or for Tina’s grip to tighten. She isn’t expecting Tina to grab her by the back of the neck and pull her into a kiss that feels like nothing she’s ever experienced. She’s expecting to hear “ _oh, God_  but Tina breathes “ _Santana_ ” into her mouth twice and sags forward against her as their hips comes to a slow pace. She doesn’t expect to stand in the middle of someone else’s shower with Tina until the water feels like it’s going cold, just kissing, but she does.  
  
It’s not until they’re dressed again – Tina in Mike’s shirt and Santana in the first sweatshirt she found in the next bedroom – that Santana realizes Tina is still holding her hand. She doesn’t have time to think about it. That hand tugs her down the stairs and back into the crowd of people, through the living room and out to the driveway.  
  
Tina only lets go when Santana shakes her off, mutters goodnight and peals away fast enough to burn rubber.  
  
\---  
  
It starts out as something easy, like it always does, but something happens and it changes.  
  
There’s a long weekend and a new Grey’s Anatomy episode on, so by 8:45, Santana is already in sweats and a tank top, a plate of leftovers in the microwave. When the doorbell rings and it’s Tina on her front step, Santana is genuinely disappointed.  
  
She  _hates_  having to choose between Grey’s and sex.  
  
Santana knows they can be quick, though. Tuesday she got Tina off during morning announcements and they were both in their seats by the time their homeroom teachers took attendance. Now, she’s got a whole fifteen minutes and some good motivation – so she won’t have to choose, after all.  
  
Tina holds up a plastic bag, weighed down by what looks like ice cream. “My cable went out. Want to watch Grey’s together?”  
  
It’s not strange that Tina knows, and shares, Santana’s love of Grey’s Anatomy. They had been fooling around last week after a late glee club meeting and cut it short when they realized Grey’s was on soon. Santana knows that Mercedes loves it just as much as Tina and they’re better friends , so it doesn’t make a lot of sense that Tina is here, at her house.  
  
Tina doesn’t give her time to think about it, pushing past her into the house. By the time Santana closes the door, Tina is already on the couch, in Santana’s favorite spot, looking at her expectantly.  
  
“We need spoons,” she says, nodding at the rapidly sweating ice cream on the coffee table. “And bowls. Unless you want to eat it out of the carton.”  
  
Santana only grabs spoons because no bowls means less dishwashing. She marches back into the living, intent on telling Tina to get her ass to the other side of the couch but the smaller girl has already taken her shoes off and pulled her legs up to her chest, curled up in the corner Santana’s body fits into perfectly.  
  
“That’s my seat,” she grumbles, dropping down next to Tina as she turns the volume up on the television.  
  
Tina’s arm winds around hers, pulling her down against her side. “We’ll share,” she says dismissively. “It’s on.”  
  
By the time Mark Sloan ends up with another intern in a on-call room, Tina has jackknifed herself into the corner and tugged Santana down with her, her back against Tina’s front and Tina’s palm low and warm against her stomach.   
  
When Karev pisses off a resident, Santana realizes she’s doing some weird sort of cuddling thing. Her head is pressed up under Tina’s chin and Tina’s humming along with the background music as Meredith and Derek break up and make up again.  
  
She turns abruptly in Tina’s hold, realizing that they’re cuddling and they’re  _close_ , close enough that Santana’s lip grazes Tina’s chin when she breathes out. “Why are you here?”  
  
Tina nods to the television. “Watching Grey’s,” she says, her eyes not leaving Santana’s.  
  
“We’re not dating,” Santana says firmly. The words feel weird in her mouth – clunky and dry and something terrible like regret. “Your cable better really be broken.”  
  
“It is,” Tina says softly, her hands linking at the small of Santana’s back, pushing her down gently. “Totally broken.”  
  
Santana stares at Tina hard, eyes narrowed, until the tip of Tina’s tongue pokes out and skips across her lips briefly. Grey’s is still on – there’s about ten minutes, including commercials, left but she decides she can watch it on the computer later, cupping the back of Tina’s head and urging her forward.  
  
“You’re going to let me cop a feel before my parents get home,” she orders, almost no space between their mouths. “Because this isn’t a date.”  
  
Tina nods and smirks, the tips of the corner of her smile touching Santana’s cheek, like she knows a secret that Santana doesn’t. “I know it’s not,” she says solemnly.  
  
“Good,” Santana mutters right before she kisses Tina hard, bruising.  
  
Just to make sure, she winds Tina up and sends her home before her parents come back asking questions Santana can’t answer.  
  
\---  
  
It starts out as something easy, like it always does, but something happens and it changes and Santana isn’t sure anymore.  
  
Santana is a creature of habit. She wore one uniform to school every day for almost two and a half years, she drinks her coffee the same way every morning, she always puts her left shoe on before her right – there are so many aspects of her daily routine she can do without even thinking about it, because she’s conditioned herself to be that way.  
  
Her wrist flicks casually and another freshman gets a slushie in the face. She turns the dial of her locker lock one way once, another twice and lands on the last number effortlessly. One well-placed foot during lunch sends that creepy band kid crashing to the ground.  
  
She’s a creature of habit, of someone who learns something and does it without conscious though, because that’s how she works.  
  
She reaches for Tina’s hand because it’s become a habit.   
  
When she’s got Tina pressed in between a filing cabinet and the door in the janitor’s closet, when Tina is underneath her in her room, when Tina is just about to reach her threshold and tumble down the other side, exhausted, there’s always a hand. There’s always Tina’s hand, reaching for hers and lacing their fingers together and it’s a habit.  
  
That’s what she tells herself when she does it, reaches for Tina’s hand, right there in the middle of the hallways as they’re walking to math, shoulders bumping with each step. Some jocks are pushing each other around and Santana just shifts her books to one side and reaches for Tina’s hand, to pull her out of the way.  
  
Tina doesn’t say anything about it – Santana doesn’t even realize it, either – until they’re standing outside the classroom door and Santana slows down to let Tina through first. She crosses the threshold and Santana only looks down when she’s pulled forward too, seeing their hands locked together tightly.  
  
Santana panics.  
  
She sits at her desk, hyperaware of Tina hovering over her shoulder, their thighs brushing under the table. Her hand is aching to reach under the desk and squeeze Tina’s knee, to feel the warm slip of skin between Tina’s knee socks and her skirt.  
  
But Tina actually does. She reaches down and presses her palm against the top of Santana’s knee and Santana recoils, the legs of her chair screeching across the tile floor.  
  
Tina looks at her with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” Santana ignores her, sweeping her notebook off the desk into her backpack. “Where are you going?”  
  
“Nurse’s office,” Santana hisses, standing quickly.  
  
She scrambles down the hall, in the opposite direction of the nurse’s office. Ducking into the open choir room, she slams the door shut behind her.  
  
Tina pushes through it half a minute later. “You’re missing math.”  
  
“So are you,” Santana snaps. “Go.”  
  
Tina gives her a small smile and sits down next to her, staring straight ahead in the same direction as Santana. “I like you.”  
  
“Stop,” Santana says wearily. “Just stop it.”  
  
“And you like me, too,” Tina continues.  
  
Santana shakes her head. “I don’t like  _you_. I like sex. I like having sex. That’s what we’re doing. Having sex. Nothing else.”  
  
Tina tilts her head to one side, her hair falling in her eyes for a moment before she pushes it to the side. “We didn’t have sex yesterday. Or the day before.”  
  
They didn’t have sex yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Yesterday, they had a NCIS marathon and ate pizza, curled into that one corner of Santana’s couch. The day before, they took Tina’s cousin to the mall to get her ears pierced. The day before that, they played DDR until Santana couldn’t feel her legs. And each night had ended at Tina’s door, with Tina on the top step, tilting Santana’s head up to kiss her on the mouth before she went inside.  
  
Even if she thinks back to a week ago – Scrabble in the back of the library because Mr. Schue cancelled after-school practice – she can’t remember the last time they had sex.  
  
She can only remember lazy kisses between bites of pizza and rolling around on the floor with Tina’s cousin while Tina’s dad and Tina debated about the merits of NCIS: LA versus the original. She can only remember collapsing to the couch after DDR and lying there, arms low around Tina’s waist.  
  
“We’re not having sex,” she breathes out, awed.  
  
Tina smiles a little wider. “We could. I hope we will again. We just haven’t been, lately.”  
  
Santana sits up ramrod straight, eyes wide. “Oh my god, did I meet your parents?”  
  
“They kind of always figured I’d end up dating a girl,” Tina says lightly. Cautiously, she runs her hand through Santana’s hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Don’t worry. They found you very charming.”   
  
She slumps back down into her seat, Tina’s hand resting at the back of her neck. It scratches idly at an itch Santana didn’t know she had. She didn’t want a girlfriend, she wanted a body. She wanted someone to touch, someone to shiver under her fingers when she ran them down their stomach. She wanted a body – Tina’s body was a good choice, an opportunity she saw and took without resistance.  
  
Somewhere along the way, though, it became eating ice cream using the same spoon and yelling at the TV every time Owen opened his mouth. It became about the merry-go-round in the park and watching Sarah Michelle Gellar wield a stake and carting Tina’s cousin to soccer and ballet and band.   
  
It became about Tina and her body was just an added bonus.  
  
“We’re dating.”  
  
Tina laughs a little bit and scoots her chair closer. “Don’t sound so happy about it.”  
  
“Are you happy about it?” Santana asks, pulling her legs up under her and facing Tina. She takes in the way Tina’s eyes light up a little as Santana focuses on her.  
  
“You mean, when you’re not freaking out and running away from me like I’m the Asian Linda Blair?” Tina nods. “Yeah, I’m happy about it.”  
  
Santana nods and chews at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Your cable isn’t broken, is it?”  
  
Tina is practically in her lap now, rolling her eyes in a way that Santana knows isn’t familiar to the other girl, but is starting to become. She reaches for Santana’s hand and laces their fingers together slowly. “No, it’s not. But I told you that last week, remember?”  
  
She does remember – she made Tina tell her in between the first scrabble game and the second one, pinning her against the back of one of those oversized library chairs, nipping at her neck.  
  
“We’re dating,” Santana says again. She laughs to herself. “This must be why Figgins hasn’t called me to his office about beating JewFro up. He’s scared of my vampire girlfriend.”  
  
“That joke? Isn’t funny,” Tina says, her nose bumping against Santana’s as she leans in. “But he should be scared,” she says before kissing Santana gently, and pressing a little more firmly before pulling back. “Want to go back to math?”  
  
Santana scoffs and slides her hands around Tina’s waist, tugging her closer. “That’s a stupid question.”  
  
She’s kind of always wanted to have sex in the choir room – something about the thrill of doing it where she knows she shouldn’t – but they make out for the next two periods and skip lunch to play 20 Questions.   
  
Her hand never leaves Tina’s.   
  
\---  
  
It starts out as something easy, like it always does, but something happens and it changes and Santana isn’t sure anymore but sometimes that’s okay.


End file.
